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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207487">with hands twice tied</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/uisgebeatha/pseuds/uisgebeatha'>uisgebeatha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Chemical Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bondage, M/M, No Smut, Sexual Themes, Subspace, blindfold, rope</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:49:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207487</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/uisgebeatha/pseuds/uisgebeatha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank doesn't mean to fall so far under, but it's fine. Gerard will be there to catch him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Frank Iero/Gerard Way</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>drabbles [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2144430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>with hands twice tied</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i hate this but it was very cathartic to write</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Smoke fills his mouth and slips down his throat, a graceful ballet dance with a morbid ending. He’s been here for so long, so still, so sore. It’s nothing, now. Nothing ever matters when the pressure is this heavy, like there are weights hanging from his ears, forcing his whole body upside down. </p><p>The rope burns, has been burning for a while, irritating and rubbing in a way he knows will leave marks (already has). It hurts like hell but bleeds like heaven and each deep breath is a blessed step deeper into purgatory. </p><p>His cheek still stings from the last slap but it’s his nose that aches the worst; if he didn’t know better, he’d think it was broken. But he does know better. Knows that Gerard would never let them continue the scene if Frank was seriously injured or in too much pain. </p><p>There are words, but they are so far away and there’s no energy left to hear them, nothing left to give from his broken shell. It’s not important, either - the pain shoots out from his chest but the pleasure rings out from his fingertips, his toes, his belly button and the tips of his ears. His thighs shiver and shake in pure warmth, and the tears on his eyelashes are his memories, fleeting pictures and flashes of metal and rope. </p><p>“Frank. Frank, sugar.” More words, one so familiar he can feel it in his bones, but nowhere else and never enough. He thinks it might be on the tip of his tongue, so he sticks it out to look, but everything is still dark. The lights are out (or maybe it’s his eyes) but he’ll wait. Gerard will light a candle. </p><p>There are hands, warm and rough on his legs, massaging them and pulling them apart. It’s addicting and painful and full of love and purity all at the same time. He thinks, for a moment, that they might be his own hands, but he wiggles his wrist and finds himself locked tightly into the ceiling hooks with something rough. A little more thought reminds him of the rope that he <em> knows </em>is there. It’s alright; Gerard will bring scissors. </p><p>Fingers dance up his waist, tap his stomach so gently it’s saddening; a melody played so silently and only for the ears of those who aren’t listening. When they reach his head, they tug his hair, and his head rolls (for a moment, Frank feels seasick, but he knows he can’t be on a boat. Gerard knows he doesn’t like boats). </p><p>Something tangles at the back of his head, pulling and ripping, leaving behind a red mark. Light floods his fuzzy eyes and he can just make out someone in front of him. He hopes it's Gerard, who would bring his glasses. </p><p>“Frankie, love, you don’t wear glasses.” The face frowns, and Frank thinks it’s cute, but he won’t say anything because he loves his boyfriend (but he does let himself stare at the mouth).</p><p>“I’m sure your boyfriend’s a lucky guy.” The mouth grins, and Frank starts to fall to the ground, but strong arms catch around his waist and legs, lifting him bridal style. </p><p>Frank knows it’s Gerard when he hits his chest, the hard muscle and soft stomach so familiar to him now it’s like his own. </p><p>He thinks he might be talking, but someone has his tongue, ripped it out of his mouth and left him mute. </p><p>It’s fine. Gerard will hear him anyway. </p>
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